Why can't I write?
Why can't I have ideas?
Why can't I just be trapped in my own world?
Why can't I have my answers which I crave?
Why can't I leave my mortal body for a day, to wander as a soul?
Why can't I enjoy this sunshine?
Why can't I understand these clouds of feelings?
Why can't I being something aside the great Storm?
Sincerely, Uly.
(Not necessarily really-bad mood but just stuff playing on my mind in some sort of poetic sense).
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